


How To Destroy Angels

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Demon!Dean, Hurt!Cas, M/M, possessed!dean, torturefic, trigger warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-26
Updated: 2013-04-26
Packaged: 2017-12-09 13:02:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/774505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel wasn’t sure when the demon had managed to slice through the protective sigil on Dean’s chest, rendering it useless, and although he’d love to have pondered the situation thoroughly, it was a bit difficult when he was strung up inside a ring of holy fire. The demon wearing Dean was grinning with ink black eyes and Castiel’s blood-smothered angel blade in its hand.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How To Destroy Angels

**Author's Note:**

> Sorrynotsorry for this. I have a thing for torturer!Dean this kind of happened. Trigger warnings for torture, blood, cutting, whatever man, just... don't read this if you're triggered easily. It's pretty dark.

Castiel wasn’t sure when the demon had managed to slice through the protective sigil on Dean’s chest, rendering it useless, and although he’d love to have pondered the situation thoroughly, it was a bit difficult when he was strung up inside a ring of holy fire. The demon wearing Dean was grinning with ink black eyes and Castiel’s blood-smothered angel blade in its hand.

Inside the fire, Castiel was powerless, and if that wasn’t enough, the rack he was tied to was inlaid with Enochian sigils, some of which he didn’t even know of, but he knew kept him as powerless as though he were human (which he very nearly was, these days).

“You know, it’s funny,” the demon was drawling, twisting the angel blade so it caught the light of the fire. “The number of times that others have overcome demons just for Dean… John took control from Azazel, Bobby took control and stabbed himself, Sammy took control over the Devil himself… even you overcame the Leviathan long enough to give Dean a chance to escape. Nice sentiment, that was. However, when Dean’s the one who’s possessed… he can’t do a thing about it,” the demon said gleefully. He raised a hand and sliced the blade down Castiel’s exposed sternum, a line of blood and Grace escaping behind it, and the angel clenched his bloodied teeth but refused to let out a scream. He’d been reeducated in Heaven by angels trained in the art of manipulation and torture, he’d fought his way through Hell for Dean, he’d contained thousands of souls and the Leviathan… he’d experienced much worse. Just because it was Dean doesn’t mean that he’d scream. He wouldn’t give the demon the satisfaction, and he wouldn’t hurt Dean.

“I know you want to scream, Angel,” the demon crooned, twisting Dean’s lips up into a smirk that had oft been seen in the depths of Hell. “You want to scream like Dean is, it’s adorable, really. See, I’ve never really been all that good at torturing, but Dean here… he was Alastair’s best, wasn’t he? And now all that dark information inside his noggin is free for me to roam around with… you should’ve seen what he did.” Castiel shut his eyes against the black eyes on his beloved’s face, and heard the demon chuckle right by his ear, the soft breaths tickling his neck. 

“Shutting your eyes isn’t going to change anything, Angel. In fact, I could slice off your eyelids and force you to keep those pretty blue eyes of yours open, so I’d suggest you do this the easy way,” the demon threatened. Castiel snapped his eyes open to glare at it, and he let out a laugh, so similar to Dean’s that it was almost physically painful. “That’s it…” the demon smiled, sounding almost proud. The demon blinked, and suddenly the inky blackness disappeared, leaving only the stark greens of Dean’s irises. Castiel held back his whimper, because now nothing would stop Castiel from realizing that this demon wasn’t Dean. This demon was wearing Dean, looked like Dean, was Dean…

“Now I think we can get started properly, don’t you?” Dean asked. The first slices were quick and virtually painless, thin slashes down Castiel’s exposed torso that bled slowly and sluggishly, red shot through with silver mercury. Dean smiled at the sight and pressed the blade further into the wounds, and Castiel grunted, gritting his teeth and breathing through the pain. He could feel his own fingernails digging into his palms, eight semicircles of blood appearing on the uncalloused skin. Dean tutted and withdrew the blade. 

“Now this just isn’t good enough, but I’m not the kind of guy to go from zero to sixty, you know that Cas,” he said, and Cas felt his stomach drop at the demon using his name like that. “We’ll get to the good stuff eventually, but I wanna hear you scream, just like Deano’s screaming in the back of his own head,” it teased. Dean sliced the rest of Castiel’s dress shirt off, pulling the shreds off his arms that were chained above him and out to either side, similar to a crucifix. Apparently both Castiel and the demon had the same thought, because it smirked.

“A little blasphemous, isn’t it, Cas? Of course, you’d know all about that…” Dean said, looking up at the angel through his eyelashes, exactly like Dean would do when he’d drop to his knees in front of the angel, with the same smirk and same hunger in his eyes. “The things you and he get up to, Angel… that’s kinky, even for me,” he smirked, biting his full lower lip, exactly the way Dean did from across the bar to get Castiel all flustered while he got the drinks. Dean got right up into Castiel’s personal space faster than the angel could blink, Dean’s lips barely grazing his own, a touch that wasn’t a touch. 

“This is gonna be fun,” Dean whispered, then brought his arm up and sliced the blade down Castiel’s arm, from wrist to the crook of his elbow, slowly and smoothly, pain blossoming along with the red-silver blood. Castiel once again gritted his teeth painfully, but refused to scream. Dean, however, obviously wanted this, and became more ruthless in his cutting; a symmetrical cut on the other arm, slower and more jagged than the last, then a deep groove surrounding Castiel’s clavicle, the bones sticking out even more than usual, surrounded by peeled-black flesh and blood. Dean smiled and lowered his lips, tongue burning-hot and tracing along the wound, pulling back once the wound was smoking and his lips and chin were dripping with crimson red. 

“You taste so good, Cas,” Dean whispered in Castiel’s ear, and the angel couldn’t help a shiver. How many times had Dean whispered that in a darkened motel room, hushed and silent as not to wake up Sam? How many times had those words been breathed into his skin in their bedroom in the bunker, words that Castiel had also whispered to Dean in return? The demon pulled back and unbuckled Castiel’s belt, pulling the slacks down to pool around his feet, which had been tied to the bottom of the rack, so tightly that Castiel could no longer move his toes. 

Dean then started in on his legs, starting at the bottom and working his way up, multitudes of little slices and cuts, hundreds of them, perfect little vertical lines that led up his calves, over the back of Castiel’s knees (he’d nearly let out a scream at those), and up to the bottom of the angel’s briefs. Both legs were drenched in blood, and Dean couldn’t resist grabbing a hunk of skin and squeezed it, the blood oozing out of a hundred little cuts, all stinging and painful. Castiel let out a pain-filled groan, holding in his screams. 

“You know, Cas, that the less you scream the more I’ll cut?” Dean pointed out, rising smoothly to his feet. “And eventually I’ll run out of skin...” he said pointedly, and it took Castiel’s blood-deprived brain a few seconds to register what the demon was saying, and pulled furiously against his restraints. Dean let out a dark chuckle, looming over the angel, and pressed a bloody hand against Castiel’s chest, shoving him back onto the rack. 

“Struggling isn’t going to work, angel. Besides, I think I’ve still got a bit more time to redden this lovely skin of yours,” Dean said with a smirk, then twirled the blade in his hand and got to work. Jagged, deep cuts that almost pierced Castiel’s Grace, a little of it trickling out with his blood, crimsonmercury spilling out onto the concrete floor, coating it and drying tacky. A few more slices in the places it hurt the most – triceps, underarms, his sides, deeply in between every rib, almost as though he wanted to cut them out and present him like a rack of lamb. A lamb at the slaughter. Castiel had let out tiny yelps and silent screams throughout the agony, biting his own tongue to stop himself from yelling out, blood dripping down his chin, matching Dean. A dark, twisted parallel. Castiel got a few seconds respite when Dean dropped the knife to retrieve some chains, which he dropped at the angel’s feet.

“Now comes the fun part,” Dean murmured right into Castiel’s ear. Castiel could barely tell what was happening, but when he felt Dean move his hand behind his back and drag his fingers down his exposed shoulder blades, Castiel froze. No. He didn’t realize he’d said the word aloud until the demon chuckled.

“Come on Cas… bring ‘em out, lemme see them angel,” Dean crooned, his warm body pressed up against Castiel’s sticky, blood-covered torso, his voice low and husky. “C’mon angel, bring out those beautiful wings of yours, lemme touch them, you know that you like it baby,” Dean whispered, and Castiel could almost shut his eyes and imagine that it was his Dean, back with him in their bedroom, under the covers and covered in sweat, breathing life and love into each other. “Cas…” Dean pleaded, and although Castiel fought it with every stuttering heartbeat, Dean managed to scrape his nails exactly like Castiel liked, and he couldn’t help but let his head fall onto Dean’s shoulder with a groan as his midnight-navy-ink wings were coaxed out from where he kept them, stretching as far out as they could, trapped against the rack and surrounded by holy fire.

“That’s my angel,” Dean muttered, somewhat proudly, before he was swinging the chains up and around Castiel’s wings, tying them tightly and painfully to the rack, iron chains laced with holy oil that stung and more sigils. “That wasn’t too hard, now was it?” Dean smirked, grabbing Castiel’s chin and pulling his head up from where he’d been hanging it from defeat and sheer exhaustion. Castiel’s eyes fluttered open, blue meeting green, and the demon smiled. “This is gonna be fun,” he promised. He picked up the angel blade again, and the first slice through Castiel’s wing made him scream aloud, more blood spilling from the semicircle wounds in his hands. Dean’s green eyes almost seemed to light up.

“Now this is what I’m talking about,” Dean said happily, slicing Castiel’s wing again, pulling feathers out roughly as he did, and then he sharply stabbed the blade through one of the wing joints, shattering the bone, and Castiel screamed so loud that it was almost tinged with his True voice. Dean smiled like a child, and ripped the blade out, blood and feathers and Grace flying out as he did. With almost childlike glee, the demon continued to rip up Castiel’s wing, slicing and tearing and ripping until Castiel had all but ripped his throat up with screams, and was reduced to a hanging, limp mess, tears running down and creating streaks through the blood on his face from where the demon had smeared it. 

The demon lifted his hand up for what Castiel knew would be the most painful strike of them all, and Castiel croaked out a word from his torn throat. 

“Dean.”

The demon looked oddly down to Castiel, who looked pleading, sorrowful and… strangely accepting of his fate. Castiel locked eyes with Dean, smiling gently through the pain, and suddenly the blade flew out of the demon’s hand, over the holy fire. Dean’s hands flew to his head as his body seized, and he suddenly took a few steps backwards, backpedaling almost into the fire, fingers almost tearing his hair out.

“Cas…” he gasped, looking up, through his eyelashes and tears to the defeated and bloody angel. “I can’t get it out myself, Cas, I need you,” he pleaded. The angel swallowed thickly, and ground out an Enochian exorcism while Dean writhed, keeping control of the demon, until the smoke exploded from his mouth and out the window, down into the pits of Hell. Dean collapsed to his hands and knees, but was up within a second, dousing the holy fire and approaching Castiel, cupping the angel’s face with a shaky hand and tears running down his face.

“Cas, oh god, Cas I’m so sorry, CasCas _Cas_ ,” Dean whispered, pressing a kiss into the angel’s hair, who flinched slightly, and Dean inhaled a deep breath and wiped the tears from his face. “Let’s get you fixed up, angel,” he said, unchaining the angel from the rack, and caught him when he fell, wings and all. Dean hauled the limp angel up into his arms, Castiel’s wings, drooping and trailing along the ground, his head and neck hanging back at a bad angle. Swallowing his tears and screams of rage, Dean carried Castiel out of the warehouse, grabbing the abandoned angel blade as he did, and gently placed Cas in the back seat, surrounded in the softest and least-scratchiest blanket he could find in the trunk. The angel whimpered, and Dean whispered reassurances to Castiel all the way back to the Men of Letters bunker. He knew Sam would be worried, knew that Castiel was in pain, knew that he was going to have to hunt down the demon that dared to use Castiel’s _own angel blade_ against him, but for now all he was focused on was getting his angel back, fixing him up, and making sure that nobody would ever hurt him again. 

Least of all him.


End file.
